


That night with Elaine

by KByrd



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, it's maybe been a while
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KByrd/pseuds/KByrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the chapter from 'Back to London' that was left to readers' imaginations. You know, between the kiss and the waking up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	That night with Elaine

**Author's Note:**

> You might want to read Back to London first for context. Otherwise it's just PWP and not all that steamy by fanfic standards.

It's too much.

Steve follows Elaine into the bedroom.

Between the rush of adrenaline and his lust and desire, he's already shaking. They haven't even done anything yet.

"Do you have anything?" she asks lightly, quirking an eyebrow.

"Um .. do you mean protection? Err ... no. I wasn't ..."

"S'ok, I think I have some in one of those SHIELD first aid kits. They're always well stocked, aren't they?"

"Yeah."

He sits down on the bed and watches her walk into the bathroom.

Sure enough, she walks out of the bathroom carrying a strip of little square packages. She tosses them onto the bedside table.

"There, that should do us," she smiles at him and reaches for a kiss.

He kisses her hungrily, gratefully.

They tumble onto the bed.

His fingers are clumsy, fumbling at the buttons on her blouse.

Her fingers are nimble, stripping off his shirt and reaching for his fly.

"Hold on," he whispers, stopping her. He wants to leave his pants on for now. To help keep a measure of control.

"You OK?"

"Just a bit fast," he mutters, panting now, trying to control his breathing.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

She drops her shirt on the floor, unfastens her bra and shimmies out of her jeans.

He's trying to get himself under control. Trying to focus on his breathing - slow, in and out. 

He kisses her. Tastes her. Strokes her slowly, dimly remembering.

He's spent enough time around women, listened to them in dressing rooms as they chat among themselves, made love to different women. He knows he can't skip this part, can't rush.

But his own body is betraying him. He's flushed, shaking. His pulse is pounding. He can't help but groan as she runs her fingertips down his back.

"You OK?" she asks softly.

"Mmm," he sighs. "You're just so ... amazing." It's not really what he means to say, but good enough.

"Ready?" she asks. "Do you want to?"

"Yeah," he answers shakily. He peels off his pants and reaches for the condoms. He's awkward, bumping the little table.

She takes it from him and separates one from the strip.

"Want me to? I don't know how much they've changed since you ... uh?"

"Please, yes," he manages. His fingers feel like sausages and he's not sure he could handle the condom just now. "Gotta say, they look a little smaller than I remember."

She smiles. "Pretty sure that's what all the guys say. They're made of new material - thinner, stretchier. Supposed to make it feel like you're not wearing anything."

Men didn't talk about such things in his day, but soldiers used to make jokes about fucking while wearing rain coats.

She's straddling him, naked, just glorious.

She shows him quickly how to tell if it's on the right way. "Easier to roll down, see? And you pinch the tip here .."

"Ah ha."

Her hand on him, cool, assured, driving him a little closer to the edge than he wants, at least just now.

"Do you want me to?" she asks, licking her lips.

"No." He's certain of that. "I'm not going to last as is. Come here."

She settles on him, kissing her way up his collarbone, pushing him even closer to the point of no return. 

She's right, he can feel so much more. It's the closest he's ever come to having sex without a condom. He closes his eyes, moans. She rocks ever so slightly.

"Wait," he groans. "Do you mind if we?" He grips her hips and shifts, maneuvering them so she's underneath. He adjusts his angle, she sighs in pleasure and lifts her hips to meet him.

And the last of his control slips away.

"Ah fuck," he whispers into her neck as the release sweeps through him.

To his surprise, she laughs softly, running her hands through his hair.

They pause, catching their breath.

"Sorry," he says, rolling off her and flopping onto his back.

"You needed that," she observes gently, rolling onto her side so she can stroke his chest.

"Like a virgin boy," he mutters irritably.

"'Sorry' should never be the first thing you say after sex," she chides him gently. "Sex is supposed to be fun."

"Was it fun for you?" he asks more sarcastically than he meant.

"Yes," she says firmly. "You know that it's not just about the orgasm, right? Not for women. I don't always ... doesn't mean I didn't have fun."

He sighs. "I guess my body was telling me that it really has been a long time - longer than I realized."

"I think you're a bit of a perfectionist," she says mildly. "It's not always mind blowing. Sometimes it's just a bit of fun."

"Or so fast, if you blink you'll miss it."

She mock scowls at him. "Quit the grousing. Do you have somewhere to be later on? Have to go back to your hotel? Or do you think you can try again? Later?"

He eyes her speculatively. "I don't have a curfew."

"Well then."

He smiles and gets up to clean up in the bathroom.

 

Coming back into the bedroom, he stops and looks at her. She's naked, sprawled out on top of the bed (they hadn't bothered climbing under the sheets) on her belly, looking languorous and sexy.

"Do you mind if I sketch you?" he asks idly.

"Um sure," she answers. "what are you going to do with the picture?"

"Probably nothing," he shrugs. "It's just something I do."

There's paper on the desk and pencils in his pants. He flips on the side light, wraps a towel around his waist and settles down.

"Do you want me to pose?" she asks, a smile on her lips.

"No, just make sure you're comfortable."

He's drawn nudes before of course. Mostly at school (art school), less so during the war when there was always the chance of getting caught and ruining someone's reputation. Still, to draw is almost a compulsion for him. He settles into the routine.

Focuses on proportion - always the thing that makes a picture look wonky if you get it wrong.

Women have changed in the last century. The women he drew in the forties were rounder, plumper, even during wartime. He remembers their curves and their softness.

Women at SHIELD are hard, toned. He's seen their bodies in the gym and at the pool, all flat stomachs and hard legs.

Elaine is no different. Her legs are long and muscled, her torso lean, her arms displaying firm biceps. But under that hardness, there are curves. He draws the curve of her breast, the soft roundness of her hips ...

She's dozing by the time he finishes. He knows the sketch could be better, but he's also long since learned that sometimes it's better to leave well enough alone. Fiddling with it past this point will only frustrate. So he stretches, puts the picture on the side table and climbs into bed.

He kisses her shoulder softly and she stirs.

"Is it a masterpiece?" she asks sleepily.

"Probably not. Doesn't really do you justice, but hey."

She rolls over and strokes his chest. "You seem more relaxed."

"Works better than booze for me," he agrees.

"Ready for round two?"

"Hmmm. I think so. Are you?"

He kisses her long and slow.


End file.
